Drarry Drabbles and Ficlets
by LynstHolin
Summary: A place for most of my super-short Drarry fics.
1. Chapter 1

"Beauty. Beauty is going to save the world."

Startled, Harry looked at the toothless old homeless woman who spoke to him "Yes, quite.'" He hurried away, down into the flower market. Harry was just looking, not buying. He wasn't prepared for what he found. Eyes like silver, hair like spun silk, hips like a song. The boy had a black rose in his white-blond hair, a creation not found in nature. The rose was lovely, but not as lovely as the slim beauty that wore it. "Hey, nature boy," Harry said to him, giving his most charming grin.

The blond gazed at Harry side-long, smiling slyly. "I sense some unrighteous intention in the way you're looking at me."

The boy moved Harry with just one little look.

...

This was written to the prompt 'rose', but also owes A LOT to the song 'Nature Boy' by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds.


	2. Chapter 2

Warnings: non-explicit sexiness

...

Prompt: war

"L'amour c'est comme la guerre," Draco said. His head was bent back, exposing the tender skin of his throat, and one arm was thrown over his eyes. He lay on Harry's bed as relaxed as a cat. But Harry knew that, just like a cat, Draco could coil up in an instant and attack.

"What does that mean?"

"Love is like war."

"That's some stupid old song."

Draco moved his arm enough to slant a look at Harry. "That's 'Love Is A Battlefield'."

"Whatever. Love is only as hard as you make it." The instant the words left Harry's mouth, he knew he was in trouble. A good sort of trouble.

...

Prompt: slurpee

"Let's visit America, you said," Draco groused, "It'll be _fun_, you said."

"We're just lost. It's not like we're going to be eaten by cannibals," Harry sighed.

Draco eyed a couple of locals. "I don't know. Those two look like the sort of inbred hillbilly types that murder and eat people in those dreadful movies you like to watch."

"A Pure-Blood using the word 'inbred' as an insult. Irony alert."

Harry pulled the car into a parking lot, and Draco winced when he saw the red, white, orange and green sign in front of the building. "7-Eleven again? I'm not going in."

"Have it your way."

Harry was nearly through the convenience store door when Draco leaned out of the car and called, "Get me a Crystal Light Peach Mango Fusion Slurpee."

...

Prompt: singing

Harry was woken up by the sound of the shower being turned on. A pleasant tenor began singing an old wizard folk song. Being a young, healthy male, Harry had woken up with... a certain condition. And here Draco was naked and wet in his home. This was going to be a very good morning.

Not bothering to cover up his nudity at all, Harry padded across the hall and opened the bathroom door. "I've got a present for you," he said, shoving the shower curtain open.

The tall, well-built blond wiped the water out of his eyes to look at Harry, a smile curving his lips when he saw Harry's... condition. "That is very thoughtful of you, but I think I'll pass."

Harry stumbled back out into the hall, where he collided with a smirking, fully dressed Draco. "Sorry about that, Harry. Father's come to stay a while because mother and he are fighting again."

...

...

Prompt: door

"You can't just walk out on me like that and then expect me to take you back!" Draco hissed, squirming in Harry's grip.

"I'm sorry, Draco! Just listen to me, please," Harry pleaded.

Draco pulled his arm loose and started walking toward the door. "It was a mistake coming here."

"You don't understand. There were things I had to do to get better."

"I don't want to hear it." Draco's hand was on the knob. He was just starting to turn it when Harry slammed him against the door, grabbing his wrists and pinning them above his head with one hand. Draco tried to fight at first, but he surrendered with a shuddering moan. They nearly rattled the hinges off the door.

"Apology accepted?" Harry breathed into Draco's ear.

...

...

Prompt: trees

"You can't see the forest for the trees," Harry sighed.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Draco asked, pouting.

"All the things you fret about about are pointless until you tell your parents about us."

"I can't!"

"What's the worst that will happen?"

"Father will disinherit me."

"I have enough money for the both of us."

"He'll hex me."

"I'll take you to St. Mungo's."

Draco half-smiled. "He'll hit me with his walking stick?"

Harry snorted. "I can't believe that I fell for that story at one time."

"It got me sympathy sex," Draco said smugly.

"Which got us both detention. McGonagall still doesn't look me in the eye."

"A small price to pay," Draco said silkily just before he ran his tongue along the curl of Harry's ear.

"Stop trying to distract me while I'm trying to have an argument with you!"


	3. Chapter 3

Prompt: rain

The breeze picked up, bringing the smell of rain. Draco loved that smell; it seemed to promise that things would be washed clean. The wind lifted the hair off the nape of his neck, and a single drop hit his face. He hoped it would be a good rain, the sort that poured down hard enough to splash back up in the air after it hit the ground. A person could stand in that kind of rain and feel purified, at least for a little while. The things he had done were more than a simple rain shower could wash away, but his conscience could rest easy when it came to one thing: he had not betrayed Harry.

"Come inside, Draco. You'll catch your death," his mother called from the doorway. As if death held any terror for him now, after all he had been through, after what he had seen.

Harry was out there, and he had Draco's wand. Draco didn't mind, not really.

...

Prompt: fidelity

Harry knew that look. The faint crease between Draco's eyebrows , the lower lip slightly sucked in, the head tilted just a little to the left. It was the expression that appeared on Draco's face every time Harry brought home rented DVDs to watch. Harry braced himself for what was coming. He had hoped to watch 'High Fidelity' in peace. He had enjoyed the novel, and, so far, was liking the American film adaptation. But Draco was getting more and more confused by the sheer _Muggleness_ of the movie. Any minute now, the questions would start.

On the television screen, John Cusack said "Some people never got over Vietnam or the night their band opened for Nirvana."

"What's this about Vietnam? What's Nirvana? Why do you think this is interesting, anyway? What's the point of the story?"

Two months they had been together now, not nearly enough time to educate Draco about Muggle culture. Harry heaved a sigh, picked up the remote, and paused the DVD. The best way to deal with this would be to try to tire Draco out so he would just curl up on the couch next to Harry and fall asleep. "You talk too much," Harry growled, just before he stopped Draco's questions with his mouth.

...

Prompt: Victorian

Harry could hear the rustle of shopping bags as Draco came through the front door and down the hall. "I was on Portobello Road all day. Wait until you see what I've found," Harry's live-in boyfriend called.

"I'm a bit busy at the moment. I had to bring some work home." Antiques were not Harry's thing. Draco loved them. Etched pocket watches, Chinese vases, Watteau prints, hand-carved humidors... Their home was full of such gewgaws. Harry didn't mind; it kept Draco happy. But it was hard for Harry to dredge up enthusiasm over, say, a two-hundred-year-old silk top hat.

"I'll think you'll like this."

"Really, Draco, I have to get this done." Harry gaped at the photographs that were shoved in front of his face.

"Late Victorian spanking erotica," Draco said smugly. He was undoing his trousers and pushing them down. "Let's re-enact them."

Harry did not get his work done that night.

...

Prompt: chocolate

Did Potter honestly think that Draco could be bought with _chocolate_? Granted, the box was from Godiva, and it contained four truffles that were as perfect as jewels, but it wasn't going to work. _It wasn't_. Potter had screwed up far too badly. There was no way Draco was going to go out with him again. He had stood Draco up and then claimed to have forgotten. Draco's ego had been severely bruised.

There was a knock at the front door of Draco's flat. He looked throught the peep-hole and saw a deliveryman with an armload of red roses. Chocolate and roses-how cliche. Next, Potter was going to send him a teddy bear. Draco slouched in a kitchen chair, staring at the roses and pouting. He didn't like Potter _that _much. It wouldn't bother him one bit if he never saw the scar-headed one again. Not at all. Not one iota. He had already forgotten the way Harry's bright green eyes looked when he took off his glasses, and how ridiculous his hair looked when he woke up in the morning, and how lovely the the length of his back looked when he pulled his shirt off. Draco delicately nibbled at a truffle while he contemplated just how much he didn't miss Potter.

There was a tapped at the door, and a scrap of paper slipped underneath. Draco picked it up. 'I'm sorry. I think I'm falling in love with you. You're beautiful,' it said.

Draco opened the door so fast, he tore the security chain right off of it.

...`

Prompt: blood

The street bit into his knees; the knees of his trousers were torn out. The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. "I'm sorry, Malfoy, you can't come in here any more!" Neville Longbottom was yelling at him, of all people, kicking him out of the Leaky Cauldron. Draco tried to come up with a witty retort, but what came out barely qualified as English. "Get help, Malfoy," Longbottom said just before he shut the door.

Draco noticed that, when his arse had hit the pavement, everything had fallen from his trouser pockets. He mumbled to himself as he tried to pick up the Galleons and Knutes that littlered the ground around him.

"What happened to you, Malfoy?" Draco looked up to see Harry Potter looking down at him. "Have you taken up street brawling since leaving school?"

Potter... Annoying Potter. Always charging about like a knight in shining armor. Draco would have told Potter exactly how annoying he was if the firewhiskey hadn't stolen his tongue.

"I'd heard you'd started drinking too much." Potter bent down and worked at getting Draco back on his feet. "Let's get you home."

"No-no home."

"You don't want to go home? Are you sure?"

"Don' have home," Draco clarified, suddenly feeling very sorry for himself.

"Oh. Um." Harry was holding Draco upright. "I guess you can stay on my couch. Hold on tight, we're going to Apparate."


	4. Chapter 4

Drarry drabbles and ficlets written from prompts/ideas submitted by my watchers. Geez, you guys really gave me some _interesting _ones this time around XD But I did them all!

Warnings: some suggestiveness

...

possessive Harry

Working with Draco Malfoy was awful for Harry, but not for the reasons that Harry's friends expected. It wasn't because Malfoy was still an arrogant git who was convinced of his own superiority, though that was quite true. It wasn't because he was still quick to deliver a put-down and that getting older had just made his wit more cutting, although that was also true.

Alex Stockman from the Department of Mysteries was loitering around Malfoy's desk again. He was a shade over six feet tall, with amazing cheek-bones and luminous blue-green eyes. And the bastard was flirting with Malfoy again. He leaned one perfect buttock against Malfoy's desk and ran his fingers through his hair as he gazed at Malfoy through lowered eye-lashes. Harry snapped the quill he was writing with in half and was barely able to keep himself from growling like a territorial dog.

After Stockman left, Harry said to Malfoy,"The only way Stockman could have been more blatant was if he'd stripped naked and laid across your desk arse-up."

Malfoy frowned a little. "What are you talking about?"

"The way Stockman is constantly throwing himself at you."

"I hadn't noticed." Malfoy's gaze sharpened, and those gray eyes filled with malicious glee. "Are you jealous, Potter? Do you fancy him?"

Oh, yes, Harry was jealous. But it wasn't Alex Stockman that he fancied.

(Alex Stockman looks like Benedict Cumberbatch. _Because I said so_.)

...

horror movie

"Are you sure that this is the movie you want to see? The very first movie you've ever seen in your life?" Harry asked.

"The man on the television said that it is a _must-see_," Draco replied.

"That doesn't mean-oh, never mind." It was partly adorable and partly irritating, the way that Draco thought that everything he heard on the telly was literally true. It was like dealing with a very tall three-year-old. Harry glanced at the poster in the theater lobby again. 'Scarier than The Exorcist!' it said in red letters that looked like they were dripping blood, above a face that was entirely in shadow except for a set of nasty, sharp teeth. "If that's what you want, all right."

_Later that night_...

Harry wasn't sure how he was going to be able to sleep with Draco wrapped around him like a panicked koala clinging to a eucalyptus tree in a windstorm. They hadn't even stayed through the whole movie. Harry had caught Draco preparing to cast a Patronus during a particularly terrifying scene and had rushed him out; the Ministry would not have been happy about having to Obliviate that many Muggles. One thing that Harry knew for sure was that he was getting rid of the telly first thing in the morning.

...

Draco discovers video games

Addiction. It was an ugly thing.

Draco was slumped on the couch. His eyes were sunken into dark circles, his hair was lank and unwashed, and he had been wearing the same clothes for days. His eyes were wide and unblinking. He looked like a zombie.

"Draco, honey, come to bed and try to sleep. You've been awake for three days straight," Harry called from the doorway of the living room.

Draco's hand twitched. "Can't. Have to save the princess."

Harry went upstairs all alone again, wondering what would be the appropriate hex to cast on his cousin Dudley for giving Draco and him a video game system for a wedding present.

...

interrupted picnic

Spring had ended the brutal winter, and Harry had finally convinced Draco Malfoy to go out on a date. When the day arrived, the weather was unseasonably warm for March. Harry canceled their dinner reservations and asked Draco to go on an afternoon picnic instead.

Draco was suitably impressed by Harry's preparations (which he'd made with Hermione's help, of course). A blanket spread on the grass, plates and napkins and silverware, food that was easy to eat and not too messy, and even a bottle of bubbly. "I should have gone out with you earlier, Potter," Draco said just before he bit into a particularly juicy strawberry.

Harry's heart sped up when Draco's tongue darted out to lick a bit of reddish juice off of his lower lip. "I'm sure the wait will have been worth it." Draco slanted a playful smile at Harry that made his breath catch.

"Hey, Draco!" said a shrill voice.

Harry looked up and groaned. Parkinson and Goyle. Why, of all the parks in London, did those two have to show up at this one and at this time? Goyle was giving Harry as puzzled look, though, by the way that Parkinson was smirking, it was clear she knew what was going on. _Don't sit down, don't sit down, don't sit down_, Harry wished fervently.

Parkinson sat down, and Goyle followed her example. "Looks yummy." She reached out, ignoring Harry's baleful glare, and took a handful of strawberries. Goyle grabbed the rest of the ham and cheese sandwiches. As the food that he had so carefully prepared himself disappeared down the gullets of two very annoying Slytherins, Harry saw his odds of getting some that night shrink to nearly zero.

...

Pokemon

Lucius furrowed his brow as he took in the costume that his grandson was wearing. "What on earth is he supposed to be? A cat? A rat?"

"It's a Muggle character called Pikachu," Draco explained.

"Pokemon!" the chubby-face little blond burbled happily from his grandmother's arms.

"And what is a... Pokemon?" Lucius asked.

"Pocket monster!" Scorpius crowed.

"Well, we must get going now," Draco said, "Harry and I are taking him Trick-or-Treating tonight."

"What, in the name of Merlin, is Trick-or-Treating?"

Draco had to suppress a sigh. He kept forgetting that his father knew nothing of Muggle culture.

...

cherry blossoms in Japan

The Third Annual Wizard International Conference was held in Tokyo at the same time that the cherry trees blossomed. A break was scheduled during the second day to accommodate a trip to Inokashira Park so that everyone could enjoy the sakura. "Isn't the loveliest thing you've ever seen?" Ginny sighed.

"Yes. Yes, it is," Harry replied, but it wasn't the flowering trees that had his attention. His eyes were riveted on one Draco Malfoy. He hadn't seen the man since shortly after the Battle of Hogwarts; when had he become so exquisite? The day was breezy, ruffling Malfoy's chin-length hair and adorning it with pink petals. The sunlight turned his eyes silver; those eyes met Harry's.

...

Hello Kitty

(this is kind of a sequel to the one above)

"Harry? What have you got on your bum?"

The sunlight hurt Harry's eyes. His wife's voice hurt his head. And his arse... He reached down and felt a bit of gauze and tape. He pulled it off, wincing as some skin came with.

" 'Hello Kitty,' and a picture of a cat. What does that mean?" Ginny's hands were on her hips.

The night before came back to Harry in bits and pieces. Running into Malfoy in a bar... a strip club... saki... a tattoo studio. The two of them had decided to commemorate their visit to Japan by getting inked. Somehow, a Hello Kitty tattoo had made sense at the time. As had making out frantically in an alley and renting a caveman-themed room in a love hotel for a couple of hours. Harry's bum hurt in two places, actually.

...

Christmas Morning

Lucius Malfoy was the king of the passive-aggressive gesture.

Harry looked at the present that he had just unwrapped: a copy of 'The Wizard's Guide to Proper Etiquette,' with certain pages dog-eared. Harry was certain that one of those pages explained the proper use of place settings. Lucius nearly choked every time he saw Harry using a dessert spoon for soup.

Next, he opened his present from Narcissa. It was a plush terry-cloth bathrobe in maroon, with 'HM' embroidered on the left breast. Never mind that Harry had kept his own name when he and Draco had married.

Draco was busy ripping open a pile of presents. Robes made of silver and lavender shot silk, custom-made boots of Italian leather, the latest in esoteric potion-making books, a set of Gobstones made from semi-precious gems, dark chocolate from Honeyduke's... "Don't you just love Christmas morning, Harry?" the blond gushed.

Harry grimaced at the bottle of Lockheart's Famous Hair-Tamer that he had just unwrapped and grunted.

...

towels

Harry hated towels. Plain white towels of rough, durable terry, of just the right size to drape around a sixteen-year-old boy's hips. Slim, well-toned hips. Hips that happened to belong to one Draco Malfoy. The Quidditch changing rooms were divided; girls on one side, boys on the other. Harry really, _really _wished that they were also divided by house.

Malfoy was standing there drying his hair, the towel around his hips hanging low and barely covering the... _interesting _bits. Harry couldn't keep his eyes from sliding over in that direction, couldn't stop himself from thinking... _things. _About _him_. Puberty had come late the the Chosen One, but when it finally did come around, it was a _bitch_.

...

coming home

The clothing he had been given upon his release hung loose on his frame. Draco squinted in the sunlight. It had been ten years since the sun had shone directly on his face, and it was as alarming as it was pleasant. "I'll be taking you back to your family's manor," Auror Potter said. "It was kept in trust for you, even though you were here in Azkaban. I'm sure it'll make you feel... better, coming home again."

Draco didn't say a word. Malfoy Manor was a place he hadn't been to for more than a third of his life. Azkaban was his home now, but he had been cast out. The Knight Bus pulled up; it somehow was able to get to the island on which the prison stood. Stan Shunpike stood in the doorway. "You ready to go or what?" he asked.

Draco picked up his small bundle of belongings and got on the bus, accompanied by Potter.

...

Hufflepuffs

"Oh, stop it, Dray. It's not the end of the world," Harry said exasperatedly.

"The first Malfoy Hufflepuff. You don't understand, Harry," Draco moaned.

"There are worse things in the world than Hufflepuffs."

"Not according to my father. He's going to blame you, you know."

"What for? I was a bloody Gryffindor. Not that it matters, as our son doesn't have any of my DNA, anyway."

"He'll say it was your influence."

"Have I told you lately that your father is barking mad?"

...

Fun at work (the Ministry)

"I'm an Auror, not a bloody servant boy!" Harry glared at Malfoy, eyes blazing.

"And, as an administrator, I'm your superior," Malfoy drawled, lips curled up into the slightest of smirks.

"Cinderelly, Cinderelly, night and day it's Cinderelly. Make the fire, fix the breakfast. Wash the dishes, do the mopping," Harry sang in a mocking falsetto as he followed Malfoy down the corridor into some musty old store room.

Malfoy looked back at Harry as if he doubted his sanity. "What are you on about?"

"Nothing, superior one."

The moment the door was closed, Malfoy was all over Harry-lips, tongue, hands.

"Do I get a raise for this?" Harry panted.

"Shut up, Potter. That's an order." Harry's uniform was stripped from him. A table was cleared of mysterious junk, and the two men fell onto it, clutching at one another.

"In the Muggle world, this would be called sexual harassment."

"It's not harassment if you like it, Potter."

...

rear window

The rear window in Draco's room faced into an air-shaft. At night, he liked to stand at that window with the lights off in his room. The lit-up windows of other flats were like television screens, showing him scenes from lives unknown. Tonight, he saw a ten-year-old girl waltzing with a cat in her arms, a middle-aged man dozing in a recliner in just his underpants, teen-aged girls polishing each others' toe nails, a puppy frantically clawing at a door, a man and a woman arguing.

A light came on right across the air-shaft, and Draco felt ridiculously glad. He had no idea why the boy with the messy black hair and the round spectacles fascinated him so much, especially since all he ever seemed to do in his bedroom was sleep and read.

The boy pulled his curtains. When he opened them again, he was in the baggy tee shirt and sweat pants that he slept in. He cranked his window open, popped out the screen, set his elbows on the sill, and stared down hard into the air-shaft. Draco wondered if the other boy was thinking about jumping. He hoped not; Draco had experimentally dropped a melon out his window, and it had liquefied when it hit the cement at the bottom.

The boy was always alone. Like Draco.

...

"Get in, boys! I'm going to R-U-N-N-O-F-T!" (line from 'Oh Brother Where Art Thou')

(You think the last one was AU? XD)

Wizard prisons were supposed to be escape-proof, but the Americans were as incompetent at incarceration as they were in every other area. No Dementors, lazy prison guards, shoddy wards... It was quite simple for Draco Malfoy to break out. The only drawback was that he had to involve a local yokel by the name of Harry Potter. One of the few magical things that Americans had done right was create the Unbreakable Shackles spell. Draco feared that he would be chained to the hillbilly until he returned to Malfoy Manor.

The two escaped wizards crouched in some shrubbery by the side of a road, listening to the tracking bloodhounds bay. "Where is your friend?" Draco asked impatiently. "Those beasts are getting awfully close."

A Model T Ford pulled up. "Get in, boys! I'm going to R-U-N-N-O-F-T!" hollered a ginger wearing bib overalls without a shirt.

"You cain't abandon your momma, Ronny! Get yourself out of there and go back home! I can drive me and Malfoy here." Potter said.

"I ain't going back there, Harry! Momma will gut me like a hog when she sees that the flivver is gone!"

"_Bloody hell_!" Malfoy shoved Potter into the automobile, then climbed in himself. "Drive this miserable piece of Muggle trash!"

"Ain't going to drive," Ronny said, grinning. "Betsy _flies_. Where we going, anyways?"

"I need to get back to England," Malfoy replied. The car rose in the air just as the bloodhounds made it to the road.

"You gon' have to give me die-rections."

...

puppies

The note said, 'Your great ugly brute of a dog got my precious Princess in a family way. YOU can take care of the results.' It was attached to a wooden crate with a blanket in it; the blanket wriggled, and small, high-pitched grunts could be heard. Harry picked up the blanket and found five squirming pups with their eyes still sealed shut.

"Dumbledore thinks if the two of yeh work together ter save these poor little abandoned babies, ye'll learn how ter get along," Hagrid said.

Malfoy picked up a brindled puppy by its scruff, dangling it in the air. "Merlin. That's the ugliest creature I've seen in some time."

Hagrid put his hands over the puppy's ears. "Don' say such things! Ye'll give him low self-esteem!"

...

ballet

"YOU. You will be sorry!" Malfoy pointed an accusing finger at Harry.

"Why me? I didn't do it!"

"Ginny Weasley is your bloody girlfriend, isn't she? I'm supposed to believe that you didn't put her up to this?"

Harry put a hand over his mouth, knowing that his smile would only make Malfoy angrier. "She has not ever been my girlfriend, and if you think that I have some sort of control over her... Well, that's just not Ginny."

Malfoy glowered, his eyes nearly black with seething anger at his humiliation. "You just wait. You'll regret the day you were born. Come on, Crabbe, Goyle."

Malfoy did his best to stomp away, but the pink satin toe-shoes he wore only made light slaps on the corridor floor. His short white tulle tutu bounced with every step, drawing Harry's gaze to his leotard-covered bottom. Ginny's Ballet Dancer Hex was her best creation yet.

...

beach resort-rain

It was supposed to be the perfect romantic getaway. A beach resort in the Maldives, where the two of them would have their own private island. Sunbathing on white sand beaches, skinny-dipping in clear turquoise waters, fooling around in a hammock slung between two palm trees... Harry and Draco were going to take their relationship to the next level.

What they actually got was a week-long storm. No sun to frolic in, water too rough to swim in, and, by the fourth day, it was too bad out for food to be delivered from the main resort. It was the sixth day now, and all the fresh fruit and cheese was gone; Harry and Draco were down to a box of stale crackers left behind by a former guest.

Draco jumped as a gust of wind rocked their cabin. "We're going to die here, Harry."

Harry pulled the oil-cloth tarp tighter around them. The cabin was starting to leak, and the tarp was the only thing keeping them dry. "We can't die yet. We haven't even gotten to the point in our relationship where we get into a huge argument and then have hot make-up sex."

...

Repo! The Genetic Opera (the theme, not the title)

Harry Potter ran as fast as he could, ducking down narrow alleys and hopping fences. Of all the times to be caught without a broom! He could hear footsteps pursuing him; the repo man from MalfCorp.

At the time, getting a heart that was resistant to the Avada Kedavra curse had seemed like a good idea; lots of Aurors were doing it. But Harry's gambling got a little out of control, he'd fallen behind in his payments, and now MalfCorp was out to get their property back. Harry's old heart was likely beating in someone else's chest now, after being treated to MalfCorp's secret curse-protection process.

A dead end. Harry spun in a circle, panicking.

"Psst." A tall, slim figure leaned out a second floor window. "Up here."

Harry climbed on top of a dumpster and reached for the outstretched hand. He tumbled over the window sill and landed on a wooden floor. Looking up, he was rendered momentarily speechless by the face looking down at him: Draco Malfoy, the heir to MalfCorp.

Smiling, Draco said, "I will take great pleasure in hiding you from my father's minions."


	5. Chapter 5

Draco introduces Harry to screamo (suggested by Eli Christian)

Like many baristas, Harry was hit on a lot. He usually would use polite humor to deflect the advances of customers, but the blond that was writing his phone number on a dollar bill and tucking it into Harry's tip jar was a different story. Not just because he was extremely good looking, though he was. It was also his British accent, which was one of those things that Harry found irrisistibly sexy. To Harry's American ears, it sounded upper-class, contrasting with the boy's torn jeans, beard stubble, and thread-bare plaid shirt.

Harry made sure to save that dollar bill.

_A few days later_...

Harry stiffened when Draco started to unbuckle his belt. "What's wrong?" the blond asked impatiently.

"There are other people around!" The squat was an abandoned warehouse. The corner that the two boys were making out in was separated from the main room by just a nailed-up sheet. "They'll hear us. I can hear them."

Draco pushed aside a pile of clothes and unearthed an ancient boom box. He hit the 'on' button, and screams and chaotic guitar noises blared out of it, making Harry jump.

"_What is that_?" Harry shouted.

"Mood music," Draco shouted, just before he pounced.


	6. Chapter 6

My fic 'Malfoy's Harry' was written to the prompt 'puppies'. It's extreme fluffiness made someone ask, 'one would wonder what would you come up with for "unicorns" or better... a "rainbow" XD' Well, here's the answer.

...

Unicorns

"Now, like I said, the young ones are not so averse to boys as adults, but watch yourselves," Professor Grubbly-Plank cautioned. "You don't want to do anything that might make Mother upset."

At the first glimpse of the unicorn foal, every girl in the class squealed in delight. As did Draco, before clapping a hand over his mouth. He noticed Lavender Brown looking at him funny. "I have a cramp," he said. "Too much Quidditch practice last night." He rubbed one hamstring to try to sell the story.

"But you didn't have pra-owie!" Crabbe whined. Draco had very pointy elbows, and he wasn't shy about using them.

The class took turns approaching the foal. When it was Draco's turn, he ran a finger up its horn, trying to follow the way it spiraled up, then stroked its pure white forelock. It looked up at him with utter trust in its opalescent eyes.

From ten feet away, Harry had a clear view of Malfoy. He was used to seeing that sharp-chinned face sneering, snickering, and angry; the expression of wonder on it now made the boy seem almost luminous. There was an odd feeling in Harry's stomach, but not like he was sick. It was quite pleasant, actually, even though Harry didn't know what it was.

...

Rainbow

It was just Lucius and Draco at the breakfast table; Narcissa was away on a hens-only holiday. "What is _that_?" Lucius poked at Draco's upper arm with one perfectly-manicured finger.

Draco lifted his chin defiantly. "I am what I am and who I am, Father, and you will just have to accept it."

Lucius pushed up the sleeve of Draco's shirt to get a better view of the rainbow tattoo. "Awful. Just awful."

"And if you can't accept me, then-then-then-"

Rolling his eyes, Lucius says, "I accept _you_, just not... _that_. I hope you'll keep it hidden at the Ministry party."

"It's a part of who I am! I'm not hiding any more!"

"You _should_ hide it. It's déclassé." Lucius picked up his morning paper again, opening it to the business section.

Draco gaped at his father. "You disapprove of my being gay because it's _lower class_?"

"I'm talking about the tattoo. It's gaudy and tasteless. Frankly, I don't care if you take out an ad in the _Daily Prophet_ to announce that you're homosexual. It's not as if people haven't suspected."

Draco had to process this for a moment. "People... already think I'm gay?" He chewed his lower lip. "I'm in love with Harry Potter," he declared, hunching his shoulders a bit as he anticipated his father's reaction.

"Quelle surprise," his father said in a bored voice, not bothering to look up from the article he was reading about flobberworm futures.

"You-you knew?"

"You've done nothing but talk about him from the day you started at Hogwarts. And it's only got worse. If I hear one more time about how he rescued you from certain death in a raging inferno, I'm going to Obliviate myself." The two sat in silence, Draco with his muesli and Lucius with his wizard stock market page. Finally, the older man folded his paper into quarters and stuck it under his plate. "You've asked him to the Ministry party as your date, haven't you?"

"Mm. Not yet."

Lucius raised one eyebrow. "You had better hurry before someone else asks him first." He stood up and patted Draco on the shoulder before leaving. Draco's eyes followed his father as a small smile played on his lips.

When he finished his meal, Draco set his spoon down in his bowl, walked to the fireplace, tossed in some powder, and stuck his head in. "12 Grimmauld Place," he said.


	7. Chapter 7

Prompt: tattoos

The music in the club was so loud, Harry could nearly taste it. He noticed that he was getting noticed, but none of the men who looked him up and down appealed to him. A lot of eighteen-year-old boys weren't fussy; they'd take whoever they could get to come home with them. But Harry liked quality, not quantity.

He saw a sheaf of long, white-blond hair and stopped. A tall, lean frame, long legs encased in tight, faded denim, and something peeking out from the bottom of a tee-shirt sleeve. Ah, a good conversation starter. "Can I see your tattoo?" he shouted in the man's ear.

The face that turned to look at him took his breath away. Angular and perfect, with large, light-colored eyes and full lips. The man- no, boy, as he was around the same age as Harry- tucked a strand of hair behind his pierced ear and looked up through his thick eyelashes. Those gorgeous lips curved into a smile, and the boy nodded. Harry lifted the sleeve of the washed-thin tee (noticing the way it clung to to body beneath) and found a full-color bird-of-paradise. "Why did you get that one?" Harry shouted.

The blond boy put his lips right to Harry's ear, giving him a shiver. "Because they risk their lives to be beautiful."

"Got more tatts?" The boy nodded. "Where?"

The boy leaned back on his barstool and gave Harry a challenging look. "Three. Find them."

Harry let his eyes wander all over that lanky frame. The boy knew he was sexy, that was for sure. He laid his hand flat on the boy's chest, where he could feel his heart beating. A little nub hardened through the tee-shirt cloth. Harry gave the blond a questioning look. The other boy lifted the shirt, displaying a tattoo of a circle of thorns surrounding a red rose. "Why did you get that one?"

Smiling enigmatically, the blond said, "The rose is my heart."

Harry moved so he stood between the other boy's legs, sliding his hands around his waist and resting them on his back. "Am I right?" Harry stepped back so the boy could spin on his stool. The back of the shirt was lifted, revealing black wings that started at the shoulders and ran down into the waistband of his jeans. Running his hands over the smooth, marked flesh and raising goosebumps, Harry considered his last guess. "If I guess right, I get to lick all your tattoos tonight," he declared.

"If you guess wrong, you get nothing." The boy spun back around and looked up at Harry again, biting his lips. This was an uncommon boy. _I want him_, Harry thought; _more than I've ever wanted anyone before_.

On the hip, maybe? Or was that too obvious? Harry imagined a Celtic knot or a Chinese character, marked on perfect white flesh just a few inches from the boy's navel. No; it would be delicious, but Harry didn't think it was right.

Around the ankle, where it could be admired as Harry rubbed the boy's feet? On the arse? No, that seemed entirely wrong. Stomach? Thigh? Privates? Harry had heard of such things. But, no, none of them seemed likely to him.

The boy shifted impatiently, drawing Harry's attention. And then, somehow, Harry knew. He leaned forward so their faces were only an inch apart, and then he pushed the soft white locks away from the delicate shell of the blond's left ear. Behind it was a small snake. Harry didn't bother to ask about it. He just leaned forward and ran the tip of his tongue over it, then moved to the ear. "What's your name?" he breathed during a lull in the music.

The boy said, "Draco." He let out a tiny, sweet sound when Harry nipped at his earlobe, a sound that let Harry know that he was going to find out a few more of Draco's secrets tonight.


	8. Chapter 8

Prompt: bunnies

"What did you do?" Malfoy hissed, groping at the fuzzy white rabbit ears that had sprouted on his head.

"I didn't do it! I've got a pair, too!" Potter's were black, of course, with longer fur on the backs. He frowned as he reached behind himself and groped.

"What are you doing? Hey!" Malfoy jumped back as Potter reached toward the back of _his_ robe. "Hands off, pervert!"

"I was just checking to see if you had a tail, too. Look." Potter turned around and pulled his robes tight against his rump so that Malfoy could see a small, round shape at the base of his spine, wiggling under the fabric.

"Great job, Potter. You turned us into bunnies. You do realize that if Madame Pomfrey can't fix this before the match tonight, everyone is going to be laughing at us with these stupid ears flapping in the wind?" Malfoy aimed a kick at Potter's shins.

"Ow! Stop being an arse! Come on, let's get to the hospital wing." Potter took off at a trot.

_Stupid, irritating Potter. I didn't see his wand out, but I know he did it, _Malfoy thought sulkily_._ As he followed the other boy, he found that his eyes were drawn to Potter's small tail-bump. It moved every so often. Malfoy wondered how fluffy it was- out of mere idle curiosity of course. There was no other reason why Malfoy would be thinking about Potter's tail, of course.

...

Prompt: fairy lights (given to me by chance13)

"Sweet Salazar, what happened in here?" Draco stopped just inside the high-rise flat he shared with Harry and gaped. A lush Christmas tree stopped just inches short of the high ceiling, and its branches were loaded with lights and tinsel and candy canes and ornaments. A small train, with Santa serving as the engineer, ran around its base. Stockings (marked 'Harry,' 'Draco,' 'Ron,' 'Hermione,' and 'Teddy') hung from the fireplace mantel. Holly-trimmed garlands ran along the walls at eye-level. Presents were heaped everywhere, the boxes ranging from match-box sized to big enough to hold a pony. There were small paths between the stacks of colorfully wrapped gifts, and Draco walked down one of them toward his boyfriend. "I was only gone for half an hour!"

Harry grinned happily. "It's the first Christmas after the war, and our first Christmas together. I wanted to make it unforgettable."

Draco paused to look at a moving Mrs. Claus figure that took tiny gingerbread man cookies out of an oven while 'The Christmas Song' played. "You've succeeded, I'd say."

Harry held a hand toward Draco. "Come out on the balcony with me." Their breath turned to white mist when they stepped outside, and Draco smiled at the small blue and white twinkling fairy lights that were wound all through the balcony railings. The lights of London seemed to twinkle back. "Look up," Harry said. A sprig of mistletoe had been attached to the underside of the balcony above.

Even as cold as it was outside, their lips were warm. Draco wrapped his arms around Harry and slid his hands up, resting them on Harry's shoulder blades. _I'm home_, Draco thought.

"When I lived with my aunt and uncle," Harry said against Draco's mouth, "Christmas was never for me. But I'm replacing all those bad memories with good ones." The memory that they made on the balcony was a very, very good one indeed.


	9. Chapter 9

This is crack, as the first two paragraphs are from the cracktastic "Harry Potter and The Twisted Tales: Vol. 1" by AllOutOfBubblegum on deviant ART.

...

"But what's all this about Malfoy going up there with a 'variety of students'?" said Hermione. "How many people are in on it? You wouldn't think he'd trust lots of them to know what he's doing..."

"Yeah, that is weird," said Harry, frowning. "I heard him telling Crabbe it wasn't Crabbe's business what he was doing...so what's he telling all these...all these..." Harry's voice trailed away; he was staring at the fire. "God, I've been stupid," he said quietly. "It's obvious, isn't it? Malfoy's a whore."

Hermione creased her forehead. "That seems-"

Harry leapt to his feet "That's it!" He took off running toward his dorm room.

"What are you going to do _now_?" Hermione called after him, but he didn't answer.

...

Harry found Malfoy alone in the potions classroom, flipping through an advanced textbook with a fretful look on his face. _Maybe he's worried about making enough money to keep his pimp happy_, Harry speculated.

"What now, Potter?" Malfoy said wearily, not even turning around.

"How d'you know it's me?"

"I can hear you breathing. Do you have a deviated septum or something?"

Harry dug into a pocket and pulled out a handful of Galleons, tossing them on the table in front of Malfoy. "Is this enough?"

"Enough for what?" Harry leaned down and whispered into the blond's ear. Malfoy twisted around fast to give Harry an outraged glare. "What the hell? What makes you think I'd do that for money, you bloody pervert?"

"Um, well, you're always in the Come and Go room with different people. You're a whore. I mean, it couldn't be anything else, right?"

"You've been spying on me and following me around for months under that poncho of invisibility or whatever it is, and _that_'_s_ the conclusion you come to? Honestly?" Malfoy shook his head, one corner of his mouth curled up.

Harry smiled, feeling pleased with himself. "Yeah. Pretty clever of me to figure it out, don't you think?"

Malfoy stared at Harry, a muscle twitching in his cheek. He was silent for a moment before standing up and shrugging out of his robes. Loosening his tie, he said, "I'll tell you what. I don't want your money. I'll do whatever you want, under one condition." He pulled the tie off and started unbuttoning his shirt.

Harry watched the growing line of white skin. He could fell his ears getting hot, along with some other parts . "Anything. Anything at all."

The shirt was tossed on a table and Draco reached for his belt buckle. "_Stop. Spying. On. Me_."


	10. Chapter 10

Harry stepped into his house and stopped short. Where were all his things? His new broomstick, his portrait of Dumbledore, the chair he usually tossed his coat on, the rug... all gone. The floor was covered with tatami mats, and delicate Japanese paintings lined the walls of the hallway. He could hear the sound of some sort of stringed instrument. "Draco?"

"Draco is not here. Take your boots off," said a coy voice. It sounded like Draco, sort of. Like Draco trying to sound like a woman. Merlin only knew what he was up to. Harry had to admit life with Draco was never boring. He followed the sound of the voice and found Draco sitting primly next to a low, black lacquer table. His hair was up in a chignon adorned with elaborate combs, and his face was painted white with red lips. He was wearing a peach and cream colored kimono with a wide obi emphasizing his slim waist. "I am Sakura. Sit down, and I will pour you some tea."

"You're a... geisha?" Harry noticed where the music was coming from- a three-stringed instrument that looked a bit like a mutant banjo. It was playing itself. "What's that?"

"A shamisen. To my shame, I am unable to play it myself. I hope you can forgive me." Draco bent his head, doing a good job of acting modest. Harry knew he wasn't modest in any meaning of the word. He gracefully poured tea into a delicate cup and gave it to Harry. "Is it to your liking?"

"Mm... It's not bad."

"Would you prefer sake?" Draco was still acting prim, but there was a wicked glint in his kohled eyes. Harry knew where this evening was going- a few drinks, and then figuring out how to get Draco out of that fancy, multi-layered costume.

"Sure. What have you got on under that kimono, anyway?"

"An under-kimono, of course," Draco replied.

"And under that?"

"I am a geisha, not a prostitute," Draco said prissily as he poured sake out of a decanter.

"Oh. You couldn't be tempted to... be naughty?" Harry took his glasses off, knowing that Draco had a hard time resisting the full force of his gaze. He undid his uniform jacket, then unbuttoned his shirt just enough to show a little chest hair. "Aren't you going to drink anything?"

Draco looked up at Harry through his eyelashes. "You wouldn't be trying to get me drunk so you can have your way with me, would you?"

"Oh, Merlin, _yes_. Preferably right on this table."

Draco was good at role-playing to a point, but he was... easily tempted. Harry could see him biting his lip, and knew that Draco would give in soon. "I do not know if the table is strong enough for that."

"Well, guess what. We're finding out right now." Draco let out a small yelp as Harry pushed him onto the table. Harry ran his hands up the long, slim legs, pushing them apart. "Mmm... no pants. I like it."

"Do you want me to take the kimonos off?"

"Not yet."

The table didn't break until the third time.


	11. Chapter 11

Prompt: chasing pavements

...

" 'Going for a run'? What on earth are you running _from_, son?" Lucius asked. The look on his face made it clear that he did not approve of the sweats that Draco was wearing.

"I need to stay in shape for Quidditch," Draco replied as he pulled on his terry cloth sweatbands.

"When you said you were coming to stay with us, your mother and I had hoped that you were going to spend time with us. It's not as if it's professional Quidditch. It's just an office team."

Draco bit back a sharp retort. He had spent the last two weeks eating with his parents, playing cards with his parents, going to the opera with his parents. He needed a little breathing room. "I won't be long, Father." Before Lucius could start complaining again, Draco jogged toward the front door. Once he was outside, he broke into a full run, not bothering to stretch first.

He'd come back home from London, hoping to clear his mind. Draco didn't feel like he was running away from anything; he felt like he was _chasing_. Chasing anything to take him from the mundane life he had let his parents steer him into, the grim bureaucratic grind of working in a documents archive at a law office. Chasing Snitches, hoping to catch the feelings he'd had playing Quidditch when he was younger. Chasing pretty men, hoping they would make him forget about Potter.

Once past the estate's gate, Draco headed toward the nearest paved Muggle road. He had worked up a good sweat by the time he hit the tarmac, and he pulled his shirt off and tied it around his waist. His father would be apoplectic at a Malfoy being half-naked in public, but he was in a Muggle neighborhood where his father would never see him, anyway. He slowed down a bit as he entered the village limits, not wanting to knock over any grannies or tykes on tricycles. He watched the cobblestones vanish beneath his feet. If anyone was to guess what he was chasing, they would probably say that he was chasing pavements. It wasn't as if he was chasing anything he was able to catch.

_Draco was playing for the law firm's team. Harry played for the Ministry, of course. He was a cocky, good-looking bastard these days. "Not too shabby," he said, looking Draco up and down in the changing room afterwards. "Oh, and you play well, too. It's a shame about your teammates, though." _

_It was true. The solicitors might be tigers in the courtroom, but they lacked a certain aggressiveness on the pitch. But, in the end, it had come down to Draco and Potter, elbowing and shoving and trying to knock each other off their brooms. Potter had finally yanked Draco's robes and sent him into a spin, distracting him long enough to grab the Snitch._

_The changing rooms emptied out, and soon it was just Draco and Potter. What had happened next had been like a continuation of their rivalry on the pitch. They fought and shoved and bit and bruised, and Draco's back was scraped raw on the wall. They ended up in the shower room, Draco holding onto a shower head while Potter did things to him that no one ever had before._

Potter had just slapped Draco on the rear end and walked away afterwards, which was as expected; after his bitter divorce from the Weasley, Potter had become well-known for avoiding anything resembling a relationship. But Draco couldn't seem to move beyond those moments, that half of an hour when Potter had made him feel so alive.

A crocodile of tots was being led across the street by a couple of middle-aged women; Draco paused, sweaty and panting, as they passed in front of him. _If I tell him, if I let Potter know that I can't stop thinking of him, what would it gain me? _Draco had seen him around. The wizarding community in London was small enough to make it inevitable. Potter would smile at him- but he smiled at everyone that was shaggable. Draco had seen him leave pubs and parties and concerts with lovely young things of every description- the man didn't seem to care about gender or anything else, just as long as his one-night stand was attractive. The gossips claimed it was all a reaction to the heart-break of finding out that Ginny had been cheating on him with Oliver Wood.

Alright, so Potter had his pain. Draco had his own, sitting in the center of his chest. Some nights, Potter had deigned to play with Draco again, dragging him into a pub's back room or underneath the stands of a Quidditch pitch. Draco would end up black and blue, and wondering why the bastard got to him so badly.

So had Draco moved back to Wiltshire, commuting directly to work via Floo network. Out of sight, out of mind, right? It didn't seem to be working that way, though. Draco started to run again, turning around when he reached the other end of the village. _Potter is chasing, too. He's chasing revenge, he's chasing forgetfulness, he's chasing a life that is free of the possibility of heart-break. But what makes him so damned special that he doesn't have to hurt like the rest of us? _

Malfoy Manor was smothering Draco. He knew he had to leave again. He would see Potter again, and he would drag the aggravating man into a kitchen or a closet or a storage shed, and he would tell him. He would tell Potter that they both needed to stop _chasing_. "You've already caught what you need," Draco would tell him, "and he's right here holding you."


	12. Chapter 12

This is a sequel to the previous 'chasing pavements' ficlet. People wanted a happy ending.

...

Oliver Wood had dumped Ginny and taken up with Hermione. Taken up with her, and proposed to her at the Quidditch World Cup immediately after he and the rest of the British team had won the championship. It seemed like, these days, everyone was in a relationship that no one could have predicted. Everyone except Harry, who was in no relationship at all.

_I won't ever open myself up like that again_, Harry told himself. _Love someone, commit to someone, and they will just find a way to rip your damned heart out. _He was in another changing room, getting ready for another match. He scanned the men of the other team, excepting Neville, and wondered if he would have one of them after the game.

Once upon a time, Harry had been good. He had done what he was supposed to do. Pretty people of every description had come on to him, the one who had defeated Voldemort, and Harry had turned them all down. No one had anything to offer him that was worth risking his marriage for. Too bad Ginny hadn't felt the same. Too bad she had to have been photographed snogging Wood after a Holyhead Harpies/Puddlemere United match. Too bad that she had left him immediately afterwards. Too bad that she had stripped their flat bare while he was at work, leaving him with nothing but his clothes and a few kitchen utensils. Too bad Ginny had felt the need to tear Harry down because he wasn't the hero she had fallen in love with one-hundred percent of the time. Too bad Harry had to be merely human, after all.

It was so much easier, the way he lived now. Men, woman, those in between- they entertained him for a short time and then went away. At night, he went home by himself to his flat, where everything belonged to him and him alone, from his Nimbus 2010X to his portrait of Dumbledore. He slept alone, and woke up alone, and that was what he wanted.

_Light gray eyes fringed with gold lashes, widening in surprise. A rapid pulse-beat in a pale throat. Fine blond hair in Harry's fist , a mouth that opened wide, and a lithe body that resisted and yielded at the same time. _It didn't mean a thing. It was just physical: two rivals grappling and biting and making each other scream. In the end, it was just sex. Sex may not be as intense with anyone else, not so breath-stealing and knee-weakening, but did that matter? A good time was a good time. It didn't have to make him tremble, or dream of mornings after. It didn't have to make him want to reach out afterward and stroke soft white-blond hair and fall asleep spooning a long, slim body.

"Potter! Look lively! It's time to hit the pitch," McLaggan called. The Ministry team was playing the Leaky Cauldron's team this time. Harry longed for a worthy opponent. Like Malfoy. _Merlin_, it was exhilarating playing against his old rival. It didn't seemed sporting, playing Neville, not sporting at all.

_Malfoy's flesh under his hands, so soft and smooth and tender. The way he whimpered when Harry nipped at his lips, the way his back arched, the way his toes curled when he peaked. _Alright, Malfoy was beautiful. There was no denying that. And there was a vulnerability about him that Harry had discovered, something he never would have suspected back during their school days. It still didn't mean a thing. Harry wouldn't, couldn't _let _it mean anything.

Harry finished lacing his team robes closed and grabbed his broom, sauntering out onto the pitch. He wasn't looking, but he saw the pale head in the stands. The match went as expected; Harry gave Neville every chance in the world, but, in the end, the Snitch had ended up landing literally in Harry's hip pocket. The Ministry team was undefeated, Harry was hoisted up on the shoulders of his mates, and a bottle of firewhiskey was popped open. Harry looked away from his teammates as they were embraced by spouses and boyfriends and girlfriends. So Harry didn't have someone (a blond someone) that would hurtle into his arms and snog him senseless right on the pitch. In a little while, he would no doubt have a warm body to rub up against for a while. That was good enough, wasn't it?

Harry didn't even notice that he was the only one left in the changing room. He stood next to his locker naked and vigorously toweled his hair dry. When he slipped his glasses back on, he was startled to see Malfoy standing right in front of him. Working hard to regain his equilibrium, Harry smirked. "Want to do it in the shower again?"

Malfoy didn't speak. He just reached out and took Harry's face in his hands, gazing him for a moment before leaning in for a tender kiss.

This was exactly what Harry didn't want. No sweetness, no romance, no affection, no anything that could lead to emotions beyond hunger and lust. The sensation of Malfoy's lips gently stroking his made Harry _feel_. He seized Malfoy by the hips, dragging him closer and turning the kiss into something hard and greedy.

Malfoy twisted away. "No."

"Come on. You're here to play, aren't you?" Harry tried to grab the other man, but his hands were slapped away. "Stop wasting my time."

"_You _stop wasting your time," Malfoy snapped, his eyes narrowed and his cheeks flushed; he was actually _angry._ "You're thirty years old. It's time you acted like it." Harry opened his mouth, but couldn't come up with a retort. "Tonight, you either take me home with you, or you never touch me again." Malfoy stood there in his charcoal gray overcoat, glowering and looking even taller than usual.

"You've got quite a high opinion of yourself, haven't you?" That wasn't what Harry said. What he actually said was, "Um." _Um_. Take Malfoy home? Harry never took anyone home. It would be like letting someone into his heart again.

"So, what will it be, Potter?"

"Could I- could I put some clothes on first?" Harry asked.

A minute upward tug of Malfoy's upper lip betrayed amusement. "I don't know. I have plans for you later that involve you naked."

Harry pulled on jeans and a sweater, very aware of Malfoy watching him. Lately, a lot of people had watched him strip. Malfoy was the only one to actually watch him get dressed again. Take him home? Take him home. Take him home and go to bed with him, wake up with him in the morning, have a leisurely Sunday breakfast of sausage and eggs and read the paper together, perhaps listen to a Quidditch match on the wireless... Bloody domesticity. _I don't want it_, Harry tried to tell himself. "Let's go, then." Harry held out an arm and Draco took it. They could Apparate right into Harry's living room.

_He's coming home with me, and he's probably not leaving_. _I should be terrified_. _I should tell him to go away and never speak to me again. _Harry pressed his face against that charcoal gray overcoat. A sharp crack and a squeezing sensation, and there they were, right in front of Harry's couch. The next act of Harry's life was about to begin.


	13. Chapter 13

prompt: it's what you do to me

...

Harry surveyed the wreckage of his flat: one shattered mirror, two over-turned bookcases, a coffee table with one leg kicked off, and the television fallen on its front. He was able to use his wand to repair most of the damage, but the TV was far too Mugglish and complicated for Harry's skills to cope with. It was junk.

It didn't really matter, not compared to the hollow feeling in Harry's stomach. He had known that a relationship with Draco wasn't going to be easy, but he hadn't imagined it ending the way it had.

_"Not one more word," Draco hissed. "You shut your mouth." _

_"But it's the tru-" Draco's eyes went wide and he bared his teeth. The mirror behind him exploded. If Draco was losing control of his magic that way, then, Harry knew, he was truly enraged. But Harry just couldn't seem to stop himself from saying more. "Your father acts like he did nothing wrong!"_

_"Who the hell are you, a bloody judge? Do you know what the Dark Lord did to him? He's suffered. He deserves to live his life as he wants now, without people like you condemning him!"_

_"People like me? I'm the one that kept him out of Azkaban! Some gratitude would be nice!" The book cases flipped over, their contents flying around the room. A thick potions text hit Harry in the temple, and he swore loudly, enraged by the pain. "Get out of my house and don't come back! Getting involved with you is one of the biggest mistakes I ever made! I don't want you in my life any more!" he shouted. He couldn't see what happened next, as his eyes were filled with pain-induced tears, but he heard the crash of the TV falling, along with swearing and a popping sound and what sounded suspiciously close to a sob. Then the door slammed shut._

The pain in his head from being hit by the book was down to a dull ache, but Harry barely noticed it on his growing despond."You're an idiot," he told himself. He and Draco were oddly perfect for one another, and not just because of the sexual chemistry between them (thought that was a very good thing). They both needed someone with some sharp edges. They both needed someone who was a challenge. And, somehow, they were two dysfunctional people whose dysfunctions complemented, without overlapping too much. They had been so _good _for each other, and their relationship had been a healing process for them both.

But then Harry had to take it too far. Bloody hell, he _knew _that Draco's family was a no-go zone, but he just couldn't seem to stop himself. Now he had the king-sized bed all too himself. No snores to keep him awake, no one to steal all the blankets, no ice-cold feet on his calves, no one drooling on his pillow- it sounded perfectly dreadful. Harry was limp on the couch, feeling too heavy to move.

The door opened, and Draco peered in, an unsure expression on his face. He had returned for his things, of course. His clothes, his books, his broomstick... Harry wondered which one of them would keep the photographs of them, taken at parties and pubs and Quidditch matches. Would they split them? Would they sit side by side while they did it? "I'm sorry," he said, though he knew it was too little, too late.

Draco came in and shut the door behind him, taking a deep breath. He walked slowly, as if wounded. He stood in front of Harry for a moment, and then he flung himself into his lap, clinging fiercely. "You're a real bastard sometimes, you know that?" Draco voice was a little muffled by his stuffed-up, red-tipped nose. Yes, Harry knew he was a bastard. He had made the man he loved cry, after all.

When Draco made no move to leave his lap, Harry stroked his hair. The potion Draco used on it kept it so delightfully silky. "You're actually staying with me after what I said?"

"I shouldn't. But it's what you do to me..." Draco's voice trailed off.

Harry understood. Some things were beyond words. Having Draco's body on his was making Harry a bit randy, but he made no moves. He would just hold Draco until the other man understood how badly Harry needed him in his life. He would hold him all day, all week, all year, and for the rest of his life if he had to.


	14. Chapter 14

Prompt: Here I Am (Come and Take Me) by Al Green, plus the first three sentences of the second paragraph.

...

'Harry,

I'm leaving. It's time for this to be over. I will be long gone when you read this.

You're like a whirlwind; you leave destruction and chaos in your wake. And you just go on hurting me. But you are so breath-taking, so beautiful that I can't help but love you. I can't believe it's real, the way you make me feel. The nights are good. Beyond good. I can lay all my troubles down when I lay with you. But every day, I end up begging for the least amount of consideration, and it's breaking my heart. I have to take care of myself. I'm sure you understand.

Love,

Draco'

Before the ink dried, Draco crumpled the parchment up, then incinerated it with a wave of his wand. Moments later, the door opened. Harry looked briefly surprised to see Draco still there; he most likely expected the other man to leave after the lamp-throwing, Quidditch trophy smashing fight that they'd had that morning. Draco stood in the living room uncertainly, twisting his hands. He laughed nervously and blurted out, "Here I am. Come and take me."

Harry walked to him, took one of those fidgeting hands, and stroked it, soothed it, stilled it. "I'm doing the best I can, Draco."

"I know." He _did _know. He knew it was hard to love properly when the people who raised you weren't really there for you, when no one taught you _how _to love.

"You and me, yeah?" Harry breathed, just before he leaned in for a kiss.

Draco wasn't leaving.


	15. Chapter 15

Paste your docume

I've been going through the most godawful phase lately, too paralyzed by anxiety to write ANYTHING. So I was quite pleased that I managed to come up with this, to the point where I was crying with happiness.

...

"Honestly, Draco," Harry said. "You didn't really think we'd be… a couple? Like, happily ever after and all that rot?"

Draco couldn't speak for a long time. Yes, that was exactly what he had thought, actually. The way Harry wanted him, it couldn't be anything but true love, could it? Harry had fought his way through the barbs and thorns that Draco had thrown up before him, bleeding both metaphorically and literally. Harry had struggled like a hero and, having won, what else could he want but to enjoy his prize?

A week together, and Harry seemed bored already. "I should get back," he said. "The Ministry, and the Weasleys—"

The last word made Draco sick to his stomach. "The Weasleys in general, or just one particular Weasley?" he demanded. Harry pulled on his jeans and his hoodie. Draco sank down on the bed as he watched those hands that hand been all over him.

"You knew when this started that it wouldn't last. I told you that."

Yes, he had, but Draco had convinced himself that he could change Harry's mind. "Will you love me on the side?" he asked, his voice shakier than he had expected it to be.

"When was this ever love?"

nt here...


	16. Chapter 16

Pairing: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy

Rating: A mild T

Prompt: 'You'd better not pout.'

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe belongs to JK Rowling, and I just play around in it for fun.

...

"But _we have to_. It's a family tradition."

"A _Malfoy_ family tradition," Harry snapped. "And, I swear, if you say one more time that I'm a Malfoy now, I will Obliviate myself back to the Battle of Hogwarts."

"But you are. Technically. Even though you didn't change your name."

"URRRRRRRRRRGHHHHHHHH!"

Draco crossed his arms and lifted his chin. "Are you coming or not?"

"Caroling? Really? _Wizard_ carols?"

"Oh, and Muggle Christmas songs are so great. 'You better watch out, you better not cry, you better not pout, I'm telling you why...' " Draco's pleasing tenor, the product of the sort of lessons that the scion of an old-money wizard family received, pierced through the hubbub of the Christmas party, causing people to turn their heads in his direction. " 'He sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake, he knows if you've been bad or good-' That's rather creepy, Potter."

Harry, who had just taken a mouthful of beer, sputtered. "We're _married_. Stop calling me Potter."

"You're changing the subject. Wizard Christmas songs are better than Muggle ones."

"Oh, really? 'A Sexy Witch's Christmas Lullaby'? 'Charles, the Christmas Hedgehog'? 'Ooby-Dooby-Walla-Walla-Shooby Means Happy Christmas'?"

"Charles the Christmas Hedgehog doesn't _spy_ on people."

"Yeah, yeah, he waddles to Bethlehem and dances for the baby Jesus."

Draco's lower lip was protruding. "I don't know why I even bother. I should have just left you at home." He spun his chair around and gave Harry a good view of his stiff back.

"Aw, Draco, you better not pout," Harry cajoled.

"Shut it."

"You better not cry, I'm telling you why." Draco made a huffing sound. Harry leaned forward and put his lips up against his husband's ear. "I bought you a platinum and emerald Slytherin tie-tack," he whispered.

Draco spun back around, his silver-gray eyes bright. "The one-of-a-kind one that was in the window at Goldsmith and Goldsmith?"

"The very one." Draco bit his lip, silent for a moment. "So we can skip the caroling and go right to... you wearing my gift?" Harry said hopefully.

Draco smirked. "Hardly." He leaned back and pulled his shirt up and the waistband of his trousers down, exposing a glimpse of silver satin. "Come caroling with me, and you get to see me in _this_."

Harry stared for a moment, then shook his head. "So... how does 'Charles the Christmas Hedgehog' go again?"


End file.
